An Imperfect Witch (15 page)

It struck Lauren as funny that she fell into the latter category.  “So cranky aunts are just a little problem, huh?”

“Yeah.  You could probably fix yourself and stuff.”  Mia stuck her spoon in the Chunky Monkey.  “We just work faster than ice cream, that’s all.”

That, they surely did.

-o0o-

The one who could listen was happier now.

A human emotion for which the orb had once only felt disdain.  Silly creatures, tugged up and down by minutia that mattered not a whit in the scale of their lives.

But it was hard to dismiss the warmth reaching out of the woman into every crevice of the room.

Even magical orbs of destiny weren’t entirely immune.

It could also feel the forces pushing.  She was weak tonight.  Open.  She would listen.

The orb floated in the warm glow.  Open, yes.  But she wasn’t weak.  And she would be stronger tomorrow.

Perhaps not unwisely chosen after all.

Always, before, it had been links of blood.  Those who listened traced their lineage back into the magical mists of time.

This one, she had something else.  Something different.

New ways for a new world.

It pushed back on the forces.  Not tonight.

The orb billowed its surfaces gently, feeling strangely content.  And oddly desirous of this thing called ice cream.

-o0o-

The words flew from Lizard’s fingers—harsh, slashing marks on the paper. 

I always knew it existed.

That land where innocents live

and people like me hear about it in whispers

through walls and bars

and cracks in the endless mean concrete.

Scratch that.  Concrete isn’t mean.  It just IS.

I thought my toes might even touch the grass

there once in that place where people laugh

just because they’re happy

and things that drop bounce

or can be glued back together.

I even started to learn how to laugh.

And then it found me, the gravitational force

that knows there is a price to living there

and I’m not strong enough to pay it.

I have my boots back on,

but the concrete world

doesn’t want me anymore either.

No man’s land.

Maybe I’ll get to meet the dude

who spent forty years

wandering in the damn desert

and died before he got to walk in the front door.

She didn’t know when she stopped writing.  She only knew that she couldn’t see the words through the tears anymore.

Chapter 13

“How come we get you for breakfast again, huh, monkey?”  Lauren set down plates on the table and grinned at Aervyn’s allocation of cutlery.  It was going to be fun watching Dev eat waffles with two knives.

“Cuz Mama says I’m growing like a weed and if someone else doesn’t feed me, the Walkers are going to have to move to the poorhouse and eat sand for dinner.  She said you probably better feed me twice, just to make sure.”

That would explain why superboy had arrived bearing his mom’s biggest spaghetti pot.  “Maybe we’ll have to send you to Uncle Jamie’s for second breakfast.”

“Okay.”  Aervyn kept setting out knives and forks, unconcerned about either proper cutlery placement or how many relatives he might visit that morning.  “Or maybe Kenna can come over here and play.”

That was a decent possibility—Jamie and Nat might appreciate a spontaneous brunch date.  Lauren reached down to scoop Fuzzball off a chair—no felines at the table.

The dopey cat stretched and then wrinkled up his nose and let out a monster sneeze.

Aervyn giggled.

And then they all froze as something else in the room sneezed.  Not the cat.  Not superboy.

Devin, holding a plate of waffles, whirled to the corner where the crystal ball sat, entirely quiet.  “It came from over there.”

“Don’t be silly—crystal balls can’t sneeze.  They don’t have noses.”  Aervyn leaned over to scratch Fuzzball’s nose—and jumped when the cat hissed.

The crystal ball sneezed again, raising the hair on the back of Lauren’s neck. 

Aervyn’s eyebrows flew up in surprise.  “It says Lizard’s having a bad day.”

Devin and Lauren moved as a unit—him for the infernal orb, her for the small boy.  And then, adrenaline storming, realized there was nothing to fight.  The orb sat in an angry water witch’s hands, totally silent.  Aervyn cuddled into Lauren’s lap, unconcerned by the sudden tackle.  “Don’t be mad, guys.  It just wants somebody to listen.”

Lauren sent one pithy word to her husband. 
Switch.
  And then climbed to her feet, eyes glued to the object in Devin’s big hands.  There were rules, and the damn orb had just broken them.

To hell with respect.

She took the glass sphere into her own hands, fury barely leashed.  Sensed the training circle her husband slammed down over her and the misbehaving globe as he put his bulk between them and a certain small boy.  And readied a mind message powerful enough to melt a concrete wall.

Leave.  Him.  Alone.

The orb vibrated with the impact.  Shuddered, its milky whites turbulent and almost sick.  And then it sent back a single reply.

Listen.

It wasn’t a threat.  Quite.  Just an implacable demand.

The best negotiator in Berkeley watched the shifting milky surface of the globe.  And then bowed her head.

She would listen.  It had found her price.

-o0o-

The orb quaked, well aware how close it had just come to being a pile of glass dust on the floor.

It had known the one who could listen had power.  It had not known how much.

One more small flick of her mind and she would have set off the cascading fractures to put the orb out of time altogether.  Its surfaces yet reverberated from the impending doom.

And still the forces had insisted on a reply.

Sometimes none of them had a choice.  The greater good was more important than any one puny soul.

But the orb felt bad.  It was growing to like this listener—and it feared for the small boy at her side.  For now, the boy was protected, encased in the fierce love of the woman with the mind of steel and those who stood with her.

One day the forces would be less gentle with him.

The orb felt its surfaces still shaking.  And knew it would one day have to choose a side.

A sense of purpose slid in under the quaking.  Perhaps that began now.  Strengthening those who walked with the child.  One day the tiny woman who loved words might be important.

The orb settled.  And waited.

Its moment to act would come.

-o0o-

She didn’t know why she was here.

Lizard scowled at the expanse of California beach, empty and far away from the urban bustle that made her feel human and important and consequential these days.

She liked those feelings.

Carefully, she pulled a much-abused piece of paper out of her backpack.  The poem of no title, written in slashing letters and drowned in way too many tears.  It hurt her just to look.

Write it down and let the water wash it away. 
A morning message on her phone, sent by a witch far too old to be texting.

Lizard stuffed the paper back in her bag.  No point polluting the one pristine beach left in California.

She sat down on a scraggly piece of driftwood, dropping her bag in the sand.  The chic red leather told her story better than the angsty words on paper.  Once upon a time, everything she owned had fit in a backpack.

Woman straddling two worlds—and screwing up in both of them.

A business card poked out of one of the red front pockets.  She pulled it out, still embarrassed by her face on the shiny paper rectangle.  She’d walked in to the photographer’s office in a suit and the most subdued earrings she owned.  And left with a picture of herself in tats, a flippant grin, and more attitude than all the other realtors in Berkeley combined.

Clients loved it.

And in the dead of night when no one was listening and nobody cared, so did she.

Lizard held the card in her hand.  A talisman, of sorts.  The important stuff of her new life.

She knew what else lived in the front pocket of her bag.  And some sudden masochistic streak made her want to pull it all out.

The keys to her hole-in-the-wall apartment, attached to a small plastic skull that had been a birthday present from Aervyn.  She set the keys down in the sand, next to her business card.

Enough Romano’s receipts to keep the Russian Army marching for a week.  A napkin-wrapped brownie—an Irish witch’s benediction for the road.  A book of poetry for her current college class, written by a guy with way too much time on his hands and a tendency to abuse commas.

Her fingers found the last thing in the bag’s pocket, even as her heart stuttered.

A silver bracelet.  Shiny, new, and as she set it down on the sand, Lizard knew that if the ocean waters suddenly raced up the beach, it was the first thing she would save.  Her fingers traced its lines—and the last of her anger mutated into sorrow.

Frack, she’d broken a lot of things.  Drop-kicked Josh, stomped on her boss and a woman who flopped in a freaking concrete hole down a crappy alley, and sobbed all over Moira about her terrible life.

The things on the beach told a very different story.  Bracelets and poetry books and snazzy business cards and keys to a home that was all hers.  One life, not at all terrible.

Raven was a problem, not a neutron bomb.  So far, the worst wrecking ball in Lizard Monroe’s October was the face staring out of the business card.  Lizard leaned her chin on her knees and sighed.  Angsty blame-the-world temper tantrums were way easier than this growing-up stuff.

A pretty purple rock caught her eye, sitting quietly next to the bracelet.  A jagged white line ran down its surface.  She felt a spurt of sadness for the pebble, broken by an uncaring wave in a vast and indifferent ocean.  Lizard reached out a thumb and finger, driven by some futile impulse to mend.  And felt only wholeness.

She picked up the rock and held it on her palm a long while, considering its message.  And then slid it into her bag.  Maybe the most important things still fit inside.

Time to go fix some of what she’d cracked.

-o0o-

Lauren heard Lizard coming before she saw her.  A presence out on the street.  Connection—a witch with her mind barriers at half-mast.  For most, that would be an act of apology.  For Lizard, it was downright groveling.

She finally let out a breath she’d been holding for sixteen hours.  It would be okay.  There might be a few bumps in the road first, but the desperate, frenetic need to hurt was gone.  Lauren pushed out as much welcome as she dared.  Lizard didn’t like getting taken off a hook—especially one she’d hoisted herself on pretty thoroughly.

When the younger woman slid in through the front door, she had her game face on.  And a bouquet of pretty flowers in her hand.

This was going to be a very weird few minutes.

“I’m really, really sorry.”  No attitude, no hiding, no shields.  Just simple, heartfelt words.

Lauren tried not to stare.  Some serious growing up had happened in the last sixteen hours.

Lizard managed half a grin.  “It would be good if you could say something now.”

Shit.  “Sorry.  I was just trying to figure out whether you got abducted by aliens or what.”

“Nah.”  Her associate’s relief was palpable.  “That was yesterday.  Strange little green dudes.”

Damn.  It was good to have her back.  Really good.  And as tempting as it was to just slide into the review of the weekly listings and leave it at that, Lauren was pretty sure that would be taking the coward’s way out.  She looked across the office at the young woman she adored.  “Can you tell me what I stepped in yesterday?”

Lizard slunk toward the edge of the desk.  “Is that my boss asking, or my friend?”

Shades of yesterday’s pain.  “Does it matter?”

“Yeah.”  Lizard sat down with a sigh.  “I don’t want my boss thinking I’m a putz.  Friends come with different rules.”

Friend, big sister, witch in arms.  All of those and then some. 
Lauren waited until Lizard looked back up. 
Talk.  Please. 

“I went skiing once,” said Lizard, so quietly she could hardly be heard over the street noise.  “Got to the top of this insanely huge mountain and realized I was an idiot tied to two slippery boards and every way down was wicked steep.”

Lauren could feel herself on the top of the mountain.  Words had such power.

“So, being me, I kicked a tree.”  Lizard grimaced.  “Broke my ski and my toe, and then I tipped over backwards and slid down a damn cliff ass-first.”